


The Grey Shirt Series

by captainsourwolf



Series: Rhink Ficlets [13]
Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Lewd pictures, M/M, Phone Sex, kind of, that grey shirt link somehow acquired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24833080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainsourwolf/pseuds/captainsourwolf
Summary: Three different versions depicting how Link "somehow acquired" that grey shirt of Rhett's.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Series: Rhink Ficlets [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1492520
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	The Grey Shirt Series

_what're you doin?_

Rhett’s phone pings around ten, when he’s just slipping into bed to try and get some sleep. After a long day of being back in the studio he’s keyed up, still wired from the high of sitting behind that desk again, and he knows Link is, too. The text isn’t surprising, but the hour is. Link doesn’t stay up past nine-thirty most nights, especially now that they’re back in the studio and are able to work longer hours. 

Turning on his side, he pulls the phone close to his face and quickly types out his response.

_in bed  
you should be too_

Jessie stirs next to him slightly, but otherwise remains asleep. Rhett stares at the screen, at the little bubbles that pop up indicating Link is typing. He doesn’t know why but he’s anxious to see what Link has to say at this time of night.

_late night  
found somethin at the house_

Rhett doesn’t have time to answer before another message is coming through, this one with a picture attached that steals the breath from his lungs and has him sitting up fast, nearly flinging his phone to the floor in the process. He manages to catch it before it can fall from his hands and holds it up in front of him, palms cupped around the edges to try and hide the screen. 

The message is simple enough— _this yours?_ —but the picture is obscene. In it is Link, clearly sprawled on his back on the twin bed in their shared middle room of the creative house, wearing what is, in fact, one of Rhett’s old grey v-neck shirts. And _only_ that shirt. The angle of the photo points down Link’s body: over his chest where the shirt is bunched and pulled tight, where his hand rests lightly on his stomach, further to his erect cock curved over the hem. Rhett swallows thickly as he stares at the photo.

It takes several moments in which his breathing becomes labored and Jessie grumbles next to him for Rhett to get up and quietly hurry to the bathroom. By the time he’s safely hidden away and seated on the edge of the tub, he’s half-hard and his pulse is racing. 

_where’d you find that thing_

Rhett gnaws on his bottom lip waiting for Link’s answer. He doesn’t remember leaving his shirt at the house, has been looking for it for a month. But now he could care less how it ended up there, as long as Link keeps sending him pictures. He looks better in it anyway, Rhett thinks, just as his phone pings with another message.

 _back of the closet_ reads the new one and attached is an image even better than the last. In it, Link’s hand has moved from his stomach and wrapped around his cock, the head peeking out in the tunnel of his fist, precum beaded at the tip. Rhett groans lowly and has to press the heel of his free hand to the bulge tenting his briefs. 

_looks good on ya_ Rhett types back, one-handed and shaky. The chat bubbles appear quickly then stop, reappear again, and again one more time before stopping altogether. 

Impatiently, Rhett waits. He clenches his hand around the tub and hovers over his phone with the other, wondering what’s taking Link so long to respond. He could call, could listen to whatever it is Link’s doing all alone at the creative house, but instead he continues to wait. 

After a moment the phone vibrates. His screen lights up with another text— _smells like you, gonna cum all over it_ —and Rhett moans, the sound vibrating in his chest. He shoves his fist against his mouth to stifle the sounds and takes a second to breathe. 

With shaky fingers he responds, a desperate _please do_. What he wouldn’t give to be there with Link, helping him get off on Rhett’s shirt, their scents mingling. But he can’t so he settles for imagining it and waiting for another text. Closing his eyes, he rests his head on his fist, breathes deep to settle the arousal stirring in his gut and making his cock ache in his briefs. 

A couple of minutes pass with no more messages from Link. Rhett can only imagine what he’s doing, hand around his dick, sprawled out on _their_ bed, wearing nothing but Rhett’s tee. Probably being loud as he strokes himself, moaning and swearing to the ceiling as he works himself to completion _on Rhett’s shirt_. He has to take another deep breath and release it slowly or the thoughts alone will be enough to send him over the edge. 

Finally, after what seems like forever, his phone vibrates in his hand. Hastily he unlocks it, eager to see what Link has sent him. He doesn’t disappoint. Rhett stares open-mouthed at the photo. It’s angled down Link’s body again; the shirt rumpled and splattered with Link’s release up to his chest, fingers wrapped loosely around his cock slick with cum. 

_looks even better like this_ pops up on the screen over the image. Rhett wants to laugh, wants to respond with something witty or sexy, but all he can do is quickly type out the first thing that comes to mind and let the phone clatter to the floor.

_wash it in cold water to get the jizz out_

And without waiting for a response he shoves his hand in his briefs, his own touch a welcome relief.


End file.
